This Christmas build up continued to remind me of my recent loss. We have yet to bury my Dad and my head knows that he no longer had the quality of life he was hoping to enjoy. So why can’t I face his quick demise as a Blessing? I know those words come out of my mouth every time I have been asked and speak to his passing.
I’m the eternal optimist. When my husband and I have chatted we could quickly tick off all the blights that we faced this year. I had drafted, but never had a chance to post the blog about my husband getting hit by a car. He was riding to work and was thrown 15 feet. You know a phone ringing at 6:30 a.m. is never good news — however — he miraculously emerged without a broken bone or any lasting damage. Both kids have gone through “rest periods” ordered by the orthopedic doctor. Our son rebounded after a summer free of running and we assume our daughter will heal and return to her weekly dance class and begin Soccer in March.
All of our blights turned out to be minor. So why does my Father’s death plague me so? I wonder when I will stop crying … will I make it through the funeral he wanted to be a Life Celebration without puddling in front of everyone?
Every day brings me new resolve, new hope and a renewed sense of awe when I realize how many blessings in this life I’ve been given. Merry Christmas it was. Graced.